Face the Future
by Eisentefel
Summary: Twenty years since the death of Shura, The world has changed. Wars have been won, gods have been killed. Those who were once scrappy upstarts are now in charge, and a new generation is chomping at the bit to prove themselves. But every generation has it's trials, triumphs and failures, and these will be like none the world has ever faced. Will this generation be ready?
Maka Albarn was impatient. She tapped her foot exasperatedly, and ran her hand through her hair. She briefly paused to look at the short strands that fell loosely down to her shoulders, free of any restraint.

More streaks of gray running through the straw-blonde. Ugh. She sighed, adjusted her sedate gray suit and long black coat, and resumed pacing around the opulent manor hall, trying to forget about the multiplying sign of her advancing age.

Her eyes swept over the furnishings, looking for something to distract herself with. Yin-yang painting, gold chandelier, tastefully arranged furniture. All stuff she'd seen before, even before she'd spent the last hour here. In other words, nothing to distract her, and her musing returned.

She shouldn't have this much gray yet, she was only 34. Not even 40! Sighing in exasperation, she turned to the room's sole other occupant, a short, thin woman in a conservative suit with square glasses, gray hair pulled in a severe bun, and a short walking cane. Even retired, and acting as Lord Death's bodyguard and assistant, Azusa was as much of a rock as ever.

As Maka turned to her, the woman's ice-chip eyes regarded her with the same chilly intensity they always had. Maka screwed her lip up in annoyance. "Azusa, how much longer? It's been an hour." Azusa had been standing already when Maka arrived, and showed no sign of discomfort, despite the old injury to her right leg. When she did walk, it was with a noticeable limp, but she never showed any sign it hampered her at all.

Azusa sighed as well. "I am sorry, Maka. You know how many things press on Lord Death's time. Especially now. The Mayor is constantly pestering him regarding the preparations for the remembrance day ceremonies and the new school year starts tomorrow, so there are a thousand last-minute things to do for that. And that's on top of his normal workload." She frowned severely. "Given the pace he goes, it's no wonder we burn out a secretary every month."

Maka smiled a little in spite of her irritation. "Guess some things never change."

Azusa returned the smile with one of her own. "Indeed." She turned her head, listening to something far-off. "Seems that the meeting has ended."

A few seconds later, one of the doors at the far end of the hall burst open, and Death strode through. Unlike his father, his tattered cloak did not encircle his body, but instead trailed from his shoulders, revealing a perfectly tailored black suit underneath. He was tall and thin, with a narrow, severe face and golden eyes, his black hair expertly trimmed and unmarred except for the three white lines that encircled his head.

He was followed shortly after by his secretary, who nearly had to run to keep up with Death's long-legged strides. Maka thought her name was Caprice, and she was a redhead with a short ponytail and glasses wearing a slightly rumpled lavender blouse and gray skirt. She had at least three more large folders then she could easily carry, and seemed to be constantly in danger of dropping the whole pile as she hurried to keep up with Death.

Lastly came another woman, this one tanned, with wavy blonde hair and a perfect, fashionable white blouse and skirt. She wore two silver rings, a silver necklace and a look somewhere between disdain and fury. "You listen to me! The city cannot possibly shut down to that extent for so long! The loss of business-"

Death stopped abruptly, almost causing Caprice to crash into him, though the overworked secretary stopped herself at the last second. Death fixed the blonde woman with an icy glare. "As I said, Mayor Reinhel, the one day decrease will be more then compensated for by the increase in the surrounding week. Now, this conversation is over, you have already taken far too much of my time. I have other matters to attend to." He turned away from the fuming mayor, and caught sight of Maka and Azusa. "Ah, Maka. Thank you for coming on such short notice." He shot the mayor a glance out of the corner of his eye. "I'm sorry I was delayed. Come with me, we'll talk in my study. Azusa, would you show the mayor out?"

Azusa gave a small bow, and gestured for the mayor to follow her. Still gnashing her teeth, the mayor reluctantly did so. Death then turned to his secretary. "Caprice, put those in my office, then take the rest of the afternoon off."

Caprice blinked, apparently unused to being told by her workaholic boss to take time off. "Are you sure?"

With a small smile, Death nodded. "It's been a trying day, and I'm sure you could use the rest. The mountains of paperwork left to vanquish will wait until tomorrow."

The secretary gave a stunned nod as Death walked towards another door, gesturing for Maka to follow.

A few minutes later, Maka sat on a leather hardback chair in Death's personal study. As soon as they came in, Death began adjusting the two paintings that flanked his desk, muttering about the symmetry being off, so they hadn't started talking yet. Maka smiled slightly as she watched him. _"Some things don't change indeed."_

She found her eyes wandering around the room. There were a lot of photos here, a lifetime of memories. They were arranged chronologically, and covered the best part of two walls. Pictures of his father, Death Sr. Pictures of Death back when he was still just Death the Kid. Of Liz and Patty, before Patty lost her left eye. Of Black Star, all their classmates from their DWMA days. Pictures of Soul.

She quickly turned from the pictures, uncomfortable, and resumed watching Death adjust the paintings. Looking at him, she was reminded that Lord Death had once just been Death the Kid, and that however much he had changed in the two decades she had known him, in some ways he still was.

Death looked at the paintings for a moment, nodded in satisfaction to himself, and turned. He raised an eyebrow at Maka's smile. "Something funny?"

Her smile didn't falter. "Just remembering old times."

Death chuckled and sat down. "Don't talk like that. Neither of us is old enough yet to have 'old times', and I'd prefer to keep it that way for as long as possible." He stopped chuckling and smiled. "How have you been, Maka?"

"Well enough." Maka tapped her chin. "The new students will be arriving tomorrow, and the preparations for them are nearly done. I finished going over the monthly global security report, and that makes nine without a blip of any kind. The witches are continuing to integrate quite well..." she stopped, looking Death in the face "or is that not what you meant?"

"Tells me enough" He replied. "You're still working too much."

"You're one to talk." Maka shot back,"When was the last time you gave Caprice time off?"

"Fair point." He winced and quickly changed the topic. "How is that new weapon you've been mentoring? I think he was a shield?"

"Oh, Klaus? He seems to be adjusting alright. He finally stopped bowing ninety degrees whenever I walk into the room."

Death barked a short laugh at that, but Maka fixed him with an even look. "I know we don't see each other much anymore, but I doubt you had me come all the way here just to catch up."

"You're right about that." A sober look came across Death's face. "I need a favor."

Maka raised one eyebrow. "What kind of favor?"

"An investigation." Death pulled a file out his desk and slid it across the desk to her. "Off the record, and outside official channels."

The file was a DWMA student file. Maka's other eyebrow rose to match the first. She took the file and opened it. It was for a new student, arriving tomorrow. The picture was of a young girl with pale skin, very short blonde hair and dull green eyes. She fixed the camera with a listless expression, and a pair of bulky green headphones hung around her neck. Maka read the name. "Jeanette Anarchy... who is she? Why the investigation?"

Death frowned. "Something feels off."

"Something?"

"I don't know what." His frown deepened as he stared into space. "But something." Abruptly, he sighed. "To be honest, it's probably just nerves. My subconscious reacting to something totally harmless." He turned his chair and stared out the window. "This remembrance day is important. Ten years since the end of Witch War II, and twenty since the death of the First Kishin. We've had a decade of peace, without a monstrous Kishin trying to become the incarnation of madness, or a dark god from another reality trying to eat the world, or a warlock declaring himself king and using an army of witches to try and enslave humanity. Peace." The shadows on Death's face grew heavy. "And a part of me has spent the last decade waiting for the other shoe to drop. If something were to happen, it feels like it would be now."

Maka stared at him for several seconds. "But you're asking off the books, instead of going through official channels."

Nearly a minute passed without either of them speaking. Eventually, Death responded. "I also understand that this is most likely my nerves. I don't want to drag an innocent student through an in-depth investigation because of that." He turned to Maka, his face haggard. "If you could just make some quiet inquiries, it would make me feel better. Enough to reassure me there isn't anything here, and that it is just my nerves."

Maka looked at the file again, closed it, and nodded. "Sure. I can look into it."

The relief was evident on Death's face. "Thank you, Maka." He stood up and began heading towards the door. "I'll see you out. I was hoping to spend some more time catching up, but our illustrious mayor kept me far longer then I would have liked." He frowned.

Maka stood up and followed him. "No problem I have things I need to get back to anyway." She followed him into the hall, then a thought occurred to her. "Why did you give Caprice the rest of the day off, anyway? You never take time off for anything, which usually means your secretaries never do either."

You could have cut the silence that ensued with a knife. After several long moments, Death responded simply. "I'm going to see my father."

Maka blanched. "Sorry."

"It's alright" Death gave a small, sad smile. "The dead have far more patience then the living."

Maka said her goodbyes to Death and Azusa, and passed a gently snoring Caprice as we walked down the path through the lawn. She was slumped over on a bench next to the path, her glasses fallen into her lap. She hadn't even made it off the property before collapsing.

After a few minutes' walk through the upscale Death's Garden neighborhood and a quick trolly ride, she was back in Death City center. While her own home was a couple miles out from here, this was the closest trolly stop to it, and she didn't mind walking through the city center. She'd lived here her whole life, after all, and she liked the bustle.

Slowly walking down the street, Maka let the city wash over her. The sights, sounds and smells, everything. There was no place in the world like Death City.

Death City had grown by leaps and bounds in the last decade, due in part to Death's decision to decouple the running of the city from the running of the school, and partially due to the influx of witches to the recently constructed witch enclave on the eastern edge of the city. Research involving witches, either about how their powers worked or how to harness them, was massively profitable, and Death City had the second largest population of witches in the world after New Salem, and the government of New Salem was far more close-minded about having anything to do with non-witches. So since the Death City Accords ended the longstanding hostilities between the DWMA and the witches, Death City had had a renaissance.

"Little Witch!"

Maka turned to the shout, her reverie disrupted. A small crowd of people had gathered around something on the other side of the street. The spectators were blocking the view of whatever they were watching. Maka frowned and began striding purposefully towards the commotion.

As soon as she reached the crowd, she could see what was happening. A little girl, maybe eight years old, was crying on the ground. She was wearing a pink dress and a yellow hoodie, the hood of which had been pulled back revealing a pair of fox ears. The girl was a witch.

Standing over here were two boys, each about twelve or thirteen. They were leering at and mocking the girl, and looked like they had been kicking her. One boy had a ratlike face and greasy black hair, the other was blonde and classically good looking but had a small scar on his chin. Each of them had a DWMA student badge pinned to their clothes.

Maka felt a cold fury stir within her soul. The closest spectators felt it, winced and turned to look at her, and then they hurriedly backed away, clearing her a path. As she walked through the swiftly parting crowd, she heard whispers of "DWMA", "headmistress", and "Valkyrie".

When she reached the boys, the blonde's back was to her, but the rat-face boy had frozen in shock. She stood behind the blonde boy for a couple of seconds before he noticed his companion's expression and turned around.

Black Star had once told her that her 'scary teacher face' could freeze hot tea from thirty yards. She had punched him in the face for that, but nonetheless, she had that face turned up at full intensity as the blonde boy turned to face her.

The blonde was less effected by her then his stunned companion. Apparently he didn't recognize her. "What do you want?" he demanded. "Can't you see that two students from the DWMA are enforcing justice here?"

"Justice?" Maka asked frostily"Is beating up a little girl justice?"

"She's a witch!" The boy pointed at her ears. "You know everything they did in the wars! She's evil!"

"She's at most eight." Maka replied, her voice getting steadily colder. "She wasn't even born yet."

The boy shrugged. "So? She's a witch. And I'm with the DWMA, so you certainly don't have the authority to tell me what to do."

"Don't I?" A chuckle escaped Maka's lips."First, you're not DWMA until tomorrow."

"Wha?" A strangled choking sound escaped the blonde boy's lips."How-"

"I know you're new," Maka continued, "Because I know every current student, which means you're two of the new arrivals who start tomorrow. And I know every student since I am Ms. Maka Albarn, and I am the Headmistress of the DWMA."

It was blondie's turn to freeze. Maka continued. "So yes, I absolutely do have the authority to tell you what to do. Your names?"

"Rikart Coln!" The rat-faced boy squeaked immediately. "W-w-w-eapon!"

A couple seconds later the blonde followed with a choked "H-hans Kreier. Meister."

Maka smiled thinly. "Thank you. Get back to where you're staying tonight, I'll see you bright and early tomorrow, and you both have before school detention for the next month." She cut off their strangled protests with a hard stare. "Go. Now."'

They went.

The crowd had already mostly dispersed, and Maka helped the young witch back to her feet. "There now, it's OK."

Before she could say anything else, the girl darted past her shouting "Mommy!" Maka turned to see her leaping into the arms of an older woman, who was admonishing her for running off while holding her tightly.

Maka smiled, then looked at the time. She had better be getting home. Her own daughter would be back by now. Or should be, at any rate.

As soon as she closed the door of her house behind her, Maka was greeted with the deeply bowing form of Klaus Reitten, newest of her weapon charges. Klaus was a lanky boy of nineteen, with a mop of wild brown hair, earnest blue eyes and a face that was almost painfully honest. "I'm very sorry Miss Albarn!"

"Klaus, I thought we were past this." Maka sighed.

He somehow managed to bow deeper without falling on his face. Maka had never figured out how he managed that. "I'm sorry, Miss Albarn, but, it's your daughter. I tried to insist she wait, but..."

Maka began rubbing her temples. She felt a headache forming. "Where is she?"

"Upstairs. She wanted to shower after whatever altercation she got into."

Giving a still bowing Klaus a thankful nod, Maka swept past him and went upstairs to find her daughter.

The door to her daughter's room was open, so Maka strode inside. The room was full of pink and black in nearly equal measure, alongside an assortment of oddities and knickknacks, books and music. A typical room for a girl of 12.

The door to the bathroom was closed, and Maka could hear the shower running. On the bed sat a boy, the same age as the ones earlier, around 12. He was leanly muscled, with limp black hair that hung loose down to his chin. He had a stern expression, but the kind of eyes that seemed like he smiled easily and often, warm and blue. Her daughter's weapon partner, Vincent Kan.

Vincent heard her enter, and Maka fixed him with a stare. It was only slightly less withering then the one she used on the boys from earlier. "Want to tell me what's going on, Vincent?"

He started fidgeting. "Well..."

"Let me guess. Kari wanted to fight someone. She didn't have a good reason. You told her not to, she didn't listen and went anyway, so you went with her. You two fought whoever it was and she won, but took a beating, so you came back here."

The fidgeting was getting worse the longer Maka talked. "Uhh... kinda..."

"Who?"

Vincent was quiet for a minute. "Some of the new incoming students. Kari said she wanted to see what they could do."

Maka sighed. "Of course it was."

"Well duh." They both turned to the now open bathroom door.

Kari Albarn heavily resembled her mother. She had the same build, though a little taller. A lot of her face was the same, though instead of Maka's round green eyes, she had her father's narrow red ones. Kari's hair, though it behaved like her mothers' was the silver-white color inherited from her father. She usually wore it in a high braid, but right now it hung down loosely, still wet from the shower. She had a number of scrapes and bruises, including a couple nasty looking cuts under her left eye, and a bruise the size of a baseball on her right shoulder.

"Kari-"

"Don't even start, Mom." Kari huffed. "I'm entitled to do whatever I can to get stronger. And if they're to weak to hack it against me, then they shouldn't even be here."

"You know that not every student who comes hear has the same advantages you do, Kari. Most don't even have a partner yet. This is a place to learn."

"Whatever." Kari sniffed and turned away. "Can you leave? I need to get ready for bed." She smiled. "Tomorrow is the big day, after all!"

Turning to Vincent, Maka sighed. "You should get home. It's a big day for you, too." Vincent just nodded and scurried out, clearly relived to be given an excuse to leave. As he did, Maka turned back to her daughter. "This needs to stop, Kari. I may have been permissive about you picking fights in the past, but that changes tomorrow. When you join the DWMA, I can't do that anymore. There are rules-"

"-and I need to learn to follow them." Kari finished in a mocking pantomime, "The DWMA is an example of order and discipline, and the students need to be as well. Blah blah blah." She stopped the pantomime. She turned and snapped to her mother "If Dad were here-" she immediately stopped, realizing a second too late that was the wrong thing to say.

Maka just spun on her heel and left the room, not trusting herself to speak. Kari dejectedly watched her go, looked down at her bare feet, then at a 13-year old picture of Soul Eater taped to the wall near her desk.

Maka found herself sitting on the couch in her home office/storage area. She was upset. She knew Kari would be too, and they would make up later. For now she wanted to be alone. She pulled out a photo album, some dust falling off the shelf as she did, and began to flip through it.

Flip flip.

A picture of her class at the DWMA. Her, Soul, Black Star, Tsubaki, Kid, Liz and Patty, Ox, Killik. Everyone. She remembered. Medusa, Chrona, Arachne, Eibon. The spartoi, and the fight against the First Kishin. Sharply remembered pain. The first, but not as it had seemed, the worst.

Flip flip.

The death of the First Kishin had changed things somehow. More and more people were being born as weapons and witches, and it had gotten far easier for a person to make the jump from corrupted human to weak Kishin. A picture of her and Soul, while they were first dating. She was sitting on his piano, laughing as he played.

Flip flip.

Two years later, Witch War I. While the DWMA was running themselves ragged trying to contain the new Kishin, the witches had organized. The grand witch launched an all-out attack, trying to destroy their longtime enemies all at once. It had taken a lot of sacrifice to stop them. A picture of her crying over a coffin. Her father's. He died saving her when she fought against the Grand Witch. Afterward she shattered every limit that she had ever conceived of on her power to put the Grand Witch down. The effort alone would have killed her if Soul hadn't taken half of the damage onto himself. The remaining witches went into hiding.

Flip flip.

More happy pictures, of her and Soul. Stern pictures, of the DWMA rebuilding itself. Becoming more militant, more organized. The DWMA split from it's military arm, now called the Death Weapon Meister Peacekeeping Force. Death controls them both, but leads neither. She and Soul make love for the first time. For a while, there is peace, of a sort.

Flip flip.

No pictures here. No need. Just memories, burned into her mind with agonizing detail. The Kishin-God, Genesis. A massive being from another reality that drove worlds insane, then devoured them to feed on their madness. It was starving, since it had devoured all life in it's own reality already. Some of the Kishin opened a door, sent someone to try and bring it here. The DWMA needed to send a team into that door to close it, and destroy the Kishin that had gone through, to prevent it from leading Genesis here.

A stark memory, Soul's lips on hers. The night before they left, she and Soul made love, for what would be the last time.

They killed the Kishin, but Genesis found them. He was the size of a star, with more power then every Meister ever born a hundred times over. Not something they could fight. They needed to buy just a few seconds, slow Genesis down just a bit, to close the door in time. Whoever did so would never come back. She could never forget the look on Soul's face. Love, pain, fear, determination. She tried to stay with him as he bought time. He literally threw her back through the door. It took five people holding her to stop her from rushing back in. Soul died, using up all the energy of his soul in a single, titanic strike, killing himself and slowing Genesis just enough to seal the door, condemning the Kishin-God to starve.

She cried for what felt like years. Then she found out she was pregnant, and cried more.

Flip flip.

Baby pictures. First birthday, second. Little shoes. An empty ache that won't go away, but nonetheless lessened with time. She would never know her father. But her mother would be enough.

Maka never took another scythe as a partner. Polearms yes, but only ever one scythe. A spear. A naginata. She was even the third partner to a halberd for a while. But never a scythe.

Flip flip.

Ten years ago, Witch War 2. The witches had been hunted for almost a decade. Most didn't want to fight, but to be free. A warlock changed that. Epoch, the Warlock King, made them fight. Another devastating war. But this time, the DWMA was ready. Maka fought, in her prime. They called her The Valkyrie, for the enemies she slew as much as for the many lost soldiers she saved. Some people said she could have won the war on her own.

A picture. A monument, lined with the names of the dead, Meister, weapon and witch alike. The Warlock King lost, undone by the witches as much as the DWMA. They didn't want to fight, but to forgive. To be free. Death listened. And they got what they wanted, within limits. Supervision, but not control. Cooperation instead of animosity. A fair trade, if not without issues still.

Flip flip.

More birthdays. Questions. Fights. More fights, and not with her mother. Bruises and tears, but also smiles. She found a weapon. A friend. A scythe. Vincent. Compensating? Maybe. But Vincent would protect her, even if he wasn't any good at restraining her either.

Flip. Thud.

Maka closed the album, and realized she'd been crying. She looked around briefly. It was dark outside. She heard a small cough coming from the door. Kari stood there, in her pajamas, looking bashful. She waved slightly. "Hi."

Maka wiped her eyes on the back of her hand. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"Shouldn't you?" A pause. "Klaus told me you were here. He was worried."

"Klaus is always worried."

Kari sat down on the couch and leaned into her mother, who put an arm around her. "I'm sorry, Mom."

"It's OK." Maka hugged her. "It's been a hard day. And there's a lot of nostalgia going around, so it made hearing that harder."

With her jaw set, Kari fixed her mother with an adamant stare."You did a good job raising me, Mom. You can trust me."

"At least try not to get into too many unwarranted fights. There will be enough times you will need to fight when you don't want to that you shouldn't fight when you don't have to."

"Love you, Mom." It was sincere, though the eye roll said what Kari thought of her Mother's advice.

"Love you too, Kari. Now go to bed. Tomorrow starts early." Maka kissed her daughter on the top of the head.

"You should take your own advice, Mom. Night."

Maka did. She slept like a rock, free of dreams.

Tomorrow would be a new day.

Tomorrow, everything would begin.


End file.
